


A man walks into a pub

by Drifting_clouds



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M, crackish fic, don't ask about the pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drifting_clouds/pseuds/Drifting_clouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No good deed goes unpunished, or so they say. Aleix is a knight in shining armour, Cal is totally British and Jorge is just there for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A man walks into a pub

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble. Ten pages later, guess what? It is not a drabble anymore! I love both drivers very much and this is the only reason I wrote a pairing that it’s completely weird. 
> 
> Also, the story is not betaed and my English is still rather sketchy, so I thought you deserved a fair warning before you started to read this…

The room is very quiet, but that’s to be expected, Cal muses as he stares at the half empty glass in front of him. It’s Wednesday evening and the only reason he’s sitting in this piss-poor imitation of a traditional British pub in Assen is because Jorge has decided to drag him here. The devious Spaniard has played the pity card well, he grudgingly has to admit; dropping a couple of hints about his aching shoulder and how he needed someone (namely Cal) to keep him company.

“I thought you didn’t drink.” Lorenzo says.

“Tonight I do.” Cal replies somewhat crossly, daring him to object.

The other man shakes his head, but he keeps quiet, which is just as well, because the Brit is not in the mood to be particularly reasonable or polite. It’s too bad he has two free practice sessions tomorrow (and probably a few meetings to attend to), because he fully intends to drink enough to forget his present and future contractual problems. And he can’t possibly do that with Jorge in mother hen mode trying to stop him.

Right then, the pub door opens and someone steps inside. _Aleix Espargaró_ , Crutchlow grits his teeth in a fit of sudden annoyance as the younger man looks around the large room, _the ever-smiling-oh-so-wonderful king of CRTs. Isn’t that just perfect?_ Although it’s not really Aleix the Brit is mad at, it’s his precious little brother Pol: the one who is going to replace him at Tech 3. Cal gulps down another sip of beer, grimacing at the bitter taste. _Oh, I hope the brat has decided to tag along as he usually does, he muses darkly, because tonight I’m going to teach him a lesson!_

“What the fuck is he doing here?” he asks, a little disappointed when the door closes and it is now evident that the older Espargaró is actually alone.

The question is not aimed at Jorge, but when the Spaniard averts his eyes, Cal casts him a suspicious look.

“You are up to something, aren’t you?”

Lorenzo sighs tiredly as he waves at Aleix to get his attention. His countryman waves back and heads towards them.

“Okay, I’m so out of here!”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jorge snaps “finish your beer and shut up!”

Bristling at the tone (and also a little taken aback at his friend’s outburst), Cal does as he’s told and gulps down the last of his lager.

“ _Hola_ ”

“ _Hola_ ”

“Can I sit down?”

“No.”

“Cal” Jorge hisses “behave yourself.”

The Brit huffs and crosses his arms, sulking at his friend.

“Don’t mind him. Of course you can!”

Lorenzo says as he moves his chair aside. Aleix gives him a nervous smile, sliding past him to sit on the wooden bench, only too glad that the small round table is partially between himself and the Brit who insists on glaring daggers at him.

“Err, listen, can I talk to you?”

“No.”

“Cal…”

“Ok, fine!”

And, suddenly, Aleix hesitates, realizing that he doesn’t know where to start or what to say exactly. He kind of had a speech planned; a nice, reasonable speech that he had carefully rehearsed as he walked to the pub, but the whole situation is suddenly looking more than slightly ridiculous. _I wanted to be the negotiator_ , he thinks, _but what if I only make both Cal and Pol mad at me?_ Really, it would make his day!

Drumming his fingers on the table, the Brit stares at Espargaró (the nice one, he reminds himself) as the younger man nervously tries to fold a paper napkin into a little boat that looks like it barely made it out of a storm only to crash on a reef.

“If you want to talk then do it!” Crutchlow says harshly “it’s not as if I have all night!”

“Cal!” Jorge snaps.

“Yeah, yeah right. I’m sorry… by all means, take all the time you need to annoy me!”

But before Aleix can actually speak, a waitress walks over to them with a flirty smile on her pretty face.

“Hi” she begins to say only to falter under the death glare coming from the Brit “C-can I bring you boys something else to drink?”

Lorenzo shakes his head.

“A pint of lager” Crutchlow grumbles “and a scotch.”

He added, almost as an afterthought.

“I’ll just have a coke.”

“No, he’s not. My friend here is getting a beer as well” Cal growls as he turns his death glare full force on Aleix “If you insist on having some kind of pointless conversation with me, I’m not going to be the only one who’s drunk around here!”

“Okay” both Espargaró and the girl say at the same time. Scribbling their order on her little notepad, she casts a sympathetic look at Aleix as she hastily moves away. Jorge doesn’t leave, but he focuses on something on his phone to give them a modicum of privacy.

“Let me guess…” Cal finally breaks the silence “this is about Polyccio. Are you here to ask me to stop being such a jerk and to leave your little brother alone? It must be something like that, because I don’t think you have the balls to actually _make_ me stop…”

Espargaró takes a sip of the beer the waitress just placed on the table to hide the small smile on his lips. Cal is trying to pick a fight, this much is clear to anyone with a younger sibling. The Brit will push and be deliberately antagonistic until Aleix snaps back so that he can have a legitimate reason to vent his frustration on him as well.

“Can I just ask you why you dislike my brother so much?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m going to lose my seat to him!”

Crutchlow slams his glass on the table and cold beer sloshes over, spilling on his hand. The Brit gives a frustrated growl as he angrily wipes his fingers clean on his jeans and Jorge glances up at him. The Spaniard looks ready to say something, but he shakes his head, going back to his cell phone instead.

“It’s not my brother’s fault that Yamaha decided to sign him and we both know it! Pol is a very talented driver and he deserves his chance…” Aleix says, managing to sound both proud and apologetic at the same time “I know it sucks and, believe me, I’m really sorry for you! But maybe you should be mad at Dorna and their power games if you have not yet been promoted to the factory team, no?”

The Brit drinks half of the scotch in a gulp, grimacing at the liquor burning down his throat then he puts the glass back on the table and rubs his forehead without saying a word.

“But if it is something personal between you and Pol… just tell me now and I won’t interfere…”

“I can’t say I particularly like your brother” Cal shrugs “but, yes, I’m probably more pissed at the whole situation! The truth is, I’m doing a great job this year and I fucking deserve my shot at a factory bike… but it’s never enough! So, here comes a kid who has yet to win shit and I’m the one who gets kicked out and will have to struggle to be the best of the rest… you have no idea how much...”

Crutchlow stops when he notices the amused look on the Spaniard’s face.

“No, I have no idea how frustrating that is” Espargaró says with a dry chuckle “after all, the only way for me to be on podium is that all of you decide to spend the weekend at Disneyland. And please, PLEASE, don’t tell me that my championship so far has been astonishing, unless you have a decent bike to give me…”

Cal barks a surprised laugh.

“Can I offer you a Ducati?”

“Ah, so the rumours are true, then.”

“Hey, it’s a factory bike at least! And I don’t mind Dovi.”

“Yeah, I like him, he’s a nice guy.” Aleix absently pats Cal’s hand resting on the table. “The bike is a tricky one, though. If I were you I’d ask Casey for some pointers…”

The Brit nods and just sits there with his cheek propped up on a hand. He looks pleasantly drunk as his slightly unfocused eyes stare at Aleix in an alcoholic daze. The Spaniard gives him a small smile and shifts nervously on the wooden bench, his hand toying with the coaster under his glass of beer.

“Did you have a nice speech planned as you came here?”

“Kind of. I thought I’d try to defuse the situation before it could blow up. Polyccio is my brother and I love him very much, but he can be a little stubborn at times.” Espargaró shakes his head fondly “I wanted to drag him here so that the two of you could talk, but then I realized that you would probably come to blows as soon as he entered the pub!”

“I would have kicked his ass.” Cal states, his words slurred as he drains the last of his beer.

“Totally” the Spaniard concedes and even Jorge has to chuckle at that.

“Hey, idiot…” he says as he critically eyes the Brit’s flushed face “how about we get going before you get even more drunk and pass out on us?”

“I’m not drunk. I never drink alcohol.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“This is empty” Cal turns his glass upside-down to make sure that there’s nothing left inside then he gives Jorge a triumphant look that clearly says _see, how could I possibly have drunk something that isn’t even here?_

Jorge doesn’t look too impressed with Crutchlow’s shaky logic.

“Maybe it’s empty because you already drank the beer inside.”

“I’m pretty sure I would remember that.”

“Don’t worry, it will all come back to you in the morning when your brain feels like it’s about to explode.”

“You’re really annoying.”

“No, I’m an adult.” the Spaniard sighs then he turns to his countryman who sits there munching peanuts from the bowl on the table “Espargaró, I could really use your help on this…”

“Whatever for? You’re doing just great on your own!”

Cal chuckles.

“I like you Aleix” he says “really, really like you.”

“Hey, you said my name right, not many people can do t-“

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because Crutchlow surges forward and grabs a handful of his shirt. Starting at the sudden movement, the Spaniard tenses as he expects the bastard to sucker punch him, but the Brit wraps his arms around him instead. The hug is sloppy, but before Aleix can utter a protest, Cal leans closer and crashes their lips together, effectively silencing anything Espargaró planned on saying.

“Okay,” Jorge quirks an eyebrow as he looks at them. “Now, this was unexpected.”

***

Cal’s lips are very soft and, really, that shouldn’t be the Spaniard’s main concern as Crutchlow keeps kissing him, a hand resting on his cheek, the other loosely twisted in his t-shirt. But Aleix is an idiot with a big crush on the Brit, so he won’t complain about the opportunity that has (literally) landed on his lap. _For this is the only chance you’ll ever get_ , his brain reminds him and he really cannot blame himself for taking advantage of it, because the hug might be sloppy but the kiss definitely isn’t. Actually, it is surprisingly good, so good in fact that the Spaniard has to wonder if Cal is only pretending to be drunk.

When someone clears his throat, Aleix suddenly remembers where they are and pushes Cal away. The Brit falls back on the corner bench with an irritated whine and just sits there blinking owlishly, as he tries to focus on something. Biting his lips, the Spaniard casts a worried look around, but nobody seems to have noticed the kiss except for Lorenzo, who is staring at him with a slight smirk as he casually puts his phone on the table.

“You didn’t just take a picture, did you?”

“Me?” Jorge shakes his head, but his innocent expression doesn’t fool his countryman “Of course not! I was playing Candy Crush.”

“Don’t be too surprised when someone kicks you out of the track in Sachsenring!”

“Oh, you’ll be too far back on the grid for that to happen” Lorenzo dismisses the threat with a one-armed shrug.

_Stupid foolproof logic_ , Espargaró thinks as he considers jumping the start to crash into Lorenzo’s Yamaha. No, way too many bikes between the two of them and he’ll probably end up hitting poor Dani instead, knocking him out for the rest of the season.

“Then HE’ll push you in the gravel trap” he says, waving a hand in the Brit’s general direction.

“Yeah, well… good luck explaining why to him.”

Aleix turns and rolls his eyes. Cal has managed to fall asleep and he’s now slumped on the sticky wooden table, snoring loudly with his head resting between the overturned napkin holder and the half empty bowl of peanuts.

“Oh great!”

“I’ll go ask for the tab” Jorge says “try to wake him up, will you?”

“What if I can’t do that?”

“You could always try with a kiss.”

_No, Jorge will definitely not live to see the first turn of the next race._

His fellow countryman probably senses the unspoken threat because he pats Aleix on the back with a kind smile as he leaves. Espargaró bites his lips and he’s not going to wake Cal with a kiss. That’s not going to happen. No way. So he grabs the man’s arm instead and gives it a rough shake, but all he gets from the Brit is an irritated grumble.

“No luck, huh?” Jorge says as he appears beside him “Come on, let’s get going!”

“What?” Aleix cries out “we can’t possibly leave him here!”

“Have you got a car?”

“No.”

“Do you plan on dragging his sorry ass all the way back to the circuit?”

Espargaró actually considers doing that, but then he shakes his head.

“It’s just…”

“That you don’t think it’s a nice thing to do. Relax, Alex” Jorge tells him, using the same nickname Cal gave him “I already asked the bartender to call a cab. And considering the tip I just gave him, he might close the bar and drive us back to the circuit himself!”

A few minutes later, the man arrives to tell them that the taxi is waiting. It takes some serious team work to hold Crutchlow up and carry the man outside without accidents, but eventually they manage to wrestle him into the car. They all end up in the back seat with the Brit slouched between Aleix and Jorge; it’s a bit cramped but Cal is extremely clingy and refuses to relinquish his grip on them. The taxi driver smiles, but he doesn’t recognize them. _The usual drunk tourist_ , he seems to think as he casts a glance in the rear view mirror at Crutchlow, now dozing with his head on Jorge’s uninjured shoulder, _but not a dangerous person_. Lorenzo gives the man the address of the circuit then he turns to Espargaró, switching to Catalan.

“What do you say, shall we dump him in front of the _Clinica Mobile_?” he asks him.

Aleix nods absently as he gazes out of the window. _This is not what I had in mind_ , he thinks, as the Brit moves around in his sleep and curls up against him with a sigh, _but obviously my plans leave much to be desired_.

***

As he knocks on the door of Crutchlow’s motorhome, Aleix feels a little embarrassed and curses himself for that. The truth is, he should have seen the Brit to the _Clinica Mobile_ instead of just abandoning him in front of it with a post-it that read _Property of Dorna, please return to team Tech 3_ stuck to his forehead (although he had laughed a lot as he knocked on the clinic door and hastily ran away).

So he had spent the night tossing and turning, feeling guilty even if Jorge had seemed to think it was a perfectly sensible thing to do. Probably because imagining Cal as he died of alcohol poisoning was the only way to keep his mind off the kiss. _And if I don’t think about the kiss, then it didn’t happen, right?_

The rest of the short trip back to the circuit had been blissfully silent and only when they were almost at the main gate, his countryman had cast him a pensive look before asking him kindly if he had a crush on Crutchlow. Obviously, Aleix hadn’t been quick enough (or smart enough) to deny that.

Shaking his head, the Spaniard knocks again, a little louder this time. Finally, from inside comes the noise of steps shuffling closer. The door opens and Cal is standing in front of him in boxer and a t-shirt, his dark grey eyes squinting in the bright daylight with the annoyance of a man with a pounding headache.

“Oh, it’s you again” he grumbles “what do you want now?”

“I” Aleix stammers nervously, blushing and feeling like an idiot all over again because he doesn’t know what to say “I just wanted to make sure that you made it back here in one piece.”

“Not thanks to you” the Brit scoffs as he absently runs a hand through his hair “or to my so-called friend Jorge.”

“Huh, yeah, I’m really sorry we left you at the _Clinica_ …”

“Don’t be. I’m just surprised that Lorenzo didn’t dump me in front of Poncharal’s door.”

“I guess he didn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Cal snorts at the Spaniard’s naivety.

“More likely he couldn’t remember the name of the hotel Hervé is staying at” he states “I know it because Lorenzo is evil… and also because I would have done exactly the same!”

“That’s nice to know” Aleix chuckles as he stands there with his hands buried in the pocket of his trousers “well, since you’re obviously fine, I should leave you alone...”

“Were you going to tell me about the kiss?”

The other man groans and averts his eyes, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. _Donotpanic_ , he tells himself, _and, above all, donotblush. Well, I guess it’s too late for that!_

“I kind of hoped you’d not remember that part of the evening” he mumbles as he absently rubs the back of his neck, still avoiding making eye contact with Crutchlow.

“I didn’t. Jorge texted me.”

“I see.”

_If I kill Lorenzo,_ Espargaró ponders, _Cal will finally get a factory bike. And if Cal gets a factory bike then he’ll have no reason to complain about Pol going to Tech 3, no? I believe this is actually the perfect answer to all my problems… I wonder why it never occurred to me before!_

“He also sent me pictures…”

“WHAT?”

The Brit laughs heartily at Aleix’s outraged shriek.

“God, the look on your face!” he says as he reaches out to pat the other man on the arm “No pictures, I was just messing with you, Alex!”

_Or I could just kill Cal. I bet it would work just as well…_

“Anyway, I’m really sorry about the sudden make out session” Cal says “I’m usually nowhere this affectionate…”

“You were drunk” Espargaró sighs, feeling a little disappointed and berating himself for that “I guess it just happened, no? Maybe next time you will hit on Jorge, instead…”

The Brit makes a face at the suggestion.

“Nah, he’s so not my type” he grins “but I’m glad we settled this.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You took it remarkably well.”

Aleix just shrugs.

“Was it a good kiss, at least?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Well, I obviously can’t remember it, but I really hope I made a good impression” Cal says “As a British man I have to live up to certain standards… think of James Bond!”

“He’s a fictional character, Cal.”

“But he’s British nonetheless…”

Aleix feels he has nothing to say to that, so he starts looking for an excuse to head back to the (relative) normality of his motorhome. Something along the lines of _I must go because I have a very important briefing with my team_ should work, especially because it might be true and Aspar is not exactly a patient man.

“I’m sober now” the other man tells him, nodding to himself.

“Good for you.”

“Hey, I was thinking that it sure is a pity that I can’t remember that kiss …”

_Seriously, this is like a ‘go down the rabbit hole directly into the twilight zone and do not pass go’ Monopoly card_ , the Spaniard blinks, confused. _What meds did the guys at the Clinica Mobile give him? Why do I get the feeling that there’s something I should see?_

“Huh, what?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Alex, I’m hitting on you!” Cal gives him an exasperated look “Please tell me that you’re not usually this clueless…”

Espargaró blinks a second time and he’s about to ask why (actually, he’s about to say _huh, what?_ once again), but then he bites his lower lips and remains silent instead, because he’s not sure he wants to know the answer (IF there is an answer). _This is a very bad idea_ , he tries to tell himself. Like Jorge told me last night, _Cal is unpredictable (which was probably just the polite way to say that he’s crazy) so it’s not as if I can really trust him. And I don’t want to become a pawn in a war between Pol and him._

“You’re about to freak out, aren’t you?”

Cal says nervously, finally breaking the awkward silence.

“No” Espargaró lies, shaking his head slightly “No, I was just thinking that your flirting skills are dreadful. Seriously, they suck!”

“This is so not true and I’m inviting you to dinner after the race to prove it. And you should know that crashing on purpose to spend the whole evening holed up at the _Clinica Mobile_ playing cards with dottor Costa will not get you out of this…”

“Are we talking about a date?”

“Be ready at 8 p.m.”

“Do I get to pick the restaurant, at least?”

“No.”

“Can I bring Pol?”

“What??”

“As my, what’s that word again? My chaperone…”

“He can’t possibly be your-” Cal splutters then he stops talking as he notices the amused grin on Aleix’s face “Bloody bastard!”

“Oh I wish I had a camera!” the Spaniard laughs “But seriously, can I bring him?”

“NO!”

A couple of Tech 3 mechanics walk by the motorhome and wave at Cal as they cast a puzzled look at the Spaniard standing beside their driver. He should probably get going, Espargaró muses, before he misses that vital team meeting and Aspar sends Randy (who is a bit of a gossiper) to look for him. Or before some random journalist decides that the two of them are hiding secrets and comes up with a crazy story.

“It’s getting late…”

“Yeah, right” Crutchlow says, but when Aleix makes a move to leave, he briefly touches his wrist to stop him. When the Spaniard looks up at him, he leans forwards and whispers:

“Don’t leave me hanging… how was the kiss?”

Espargaró just grins like a Cheshire cat, shrugging lightly as he trots down the stairs. On the last step he turns to glance at Cal, standing there with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he stares at him expectantly.

“James Bond would be proud of you” he tells him.

Aleix can still hear the Brit’s laugh (and the gleeful ‘I knew it!) in his ears as he enters his motorhome.

 

THE END


End file.
